


Watching, waiting, winning

by GivenTheChonce_x (LoveAndChonce_95)



Category: Cricky - Fandom
Genre: Cricky are babies in love, Cricky is life, Fluff, I DONT MAKE THE RULES, M/M, This Had to Happen, bye, fluffy fluff, i can't write, this is exactly what happened, we were triggered
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 02:52:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7557253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveAndChonce_95/pseuds/GivenTheChonce_x
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Cristiano Ronaldo ends up injured in his big EURO 2016 finale.. but wins anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watching, waiting, winning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nvanmeter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nvanmeter/gifts), [harrylouishome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrylouishome/gifts), [lele28](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lele28/gifts).



> Alright guys, here's nothing.
> 
>  
> 
> If you want a visual for the end.. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cJ2G-nsJhTU

 

No, not this. No, no, no. The sideline bench had never felt this uncomfortable. He wanted to jump up into the pitch, run to him. He needed to. He jolted upright, worrying his nails with his teeth. He had seen the action, he’d seen the contact. He’d seen Cristiano’s knee twist in. He knew that knee had caused Cristiano problems before. 

He watched as the captain got out of the field on one leg, face frozen in an attempt to shoo the pain away. He watched as he got a mere bandage put around his bad knee. He watched as he avoided his gaze, bit his tongue as he returned to the game. He would have told him to stop. He would have told him to listen to his body, to be reasonable.

The thing was.. Cristiano was everything but reasonable. When he had something in mind.. nothing to stop him. He would give everything to achieve it. Everything, including his own health. And the whole team knew that. He saw Alves give him a worried look, he caught Pepe’s warning sign to him. They knew, he knew, everyone knew. And a whole country was on its feet.

« He’ll be good » he heard from another staff member. No. No he won’t. The way he’s walking, limping ? A harsh touch and he’d be down.

 

And he was down. He saw it before everyone. The way his hand kept creeping up his thigh, the way his fingers would twitch, the way his jaw would tense. The captain band got yanked away from his arm before he touched the grass, complete frustration written on his face. His tongue licked around his lips in an attempt to keep control.

And then it happened. Then, right there in the middle of the pitch with Nani walking up to him, with his comrades surrounding him, he burst into tears. Fat, angry tears. Pain. He knew that face; the face of a man who could not take more, the face of someone who wanted to give more, wanted to do more but couldn’t. 

He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned, not realizing he had bolted out of his chair. Quaresma shook his head as he passed him on his way to the coach. Right. He couldn’t. Not after the semi-final demonstration. Not after a whole new lot of fans had picked up on their friendship. Huh. He hated this. 

Facing the pitch again, he froze on his spot, Moutinho coming up behind him as support. This was so hard to watch. Cristiano had asked for the stretcher. Cristiano Ronaldo, the worst stubborn idiot had asked for a stretcher during the Euro finale. He felt his own knees buckle up under him. 

 

« He’s gonna need you. Hold on. »

 

Hold on. Wait. Watch your best asset suffer an injury, watch your best friend get his dream destroyed, watch the man you love lose himself in pain. Watch it all unfold under your eyes and do nothing. Do nothing because no one needs to know you’re dying inside while watching Cristiano Ronaldo crying his eyes out on pitch. Because no one can know all you want to do is cradle him in your arms, all you want to say is that it’s going to be alright, all that you want is to be next to him. 

« Shit. Fuck, fuck, fuck. »

He looked up to the stands, Dolores already gone, Cristianinho’s little face scrunched up in angst. Pure fear for his daddy. He was too little to witness this, his little baby. He took a big breath, still waiting. He couldn’t leave the pitch right now. He watched the medics pass with a defeated Ronaldo on a litter, fingers pinching his nose, tears rolling down. 

 

« Bruno, _por favor_. Please. »

He needed someone to take his place. He cheered for Quaresma with the crowd, encouraged the team with the other players and the staff. Waiting. Alves came back about ten minutes later, nodding to him, « he’s asking for you ». Go, now. Run.

 

With unease filling his chest, he ran through the corridor, past the lockers rooms, into the medical aisle of the stadium. Nobody stopped him.He heard him before seeing him.

« I am not leaving for the hospital. Find a damn way but I have to stay. »

That crazy man.

« You might have torn ligaments. »

« Whatever, patch it up, give me an injection, I do not care one bit. »

 

He was getting worked up further than pain, he could tell from his voice.

He heard another voice, feminine. Dolores, of course.

 

« Cristiano, _tem cuidado por favor, não te aleijes mais por favor filho._ Be careful, don’t hurt yourself more, son. »

« Don’t worry mum, I’m fine. I’m fine. »

Fine. He sounded everything but fine. He would never show that to his mother though. 

« Okay, mister Ronaldo, this is going to hurt. Are you ready ? »

 

He chose that moment to enter. He couldn’t let him hurt again, not without him. He didn’t knock, just preoccupied with finally taking his place beside Cristiano.

« Ricky. »

He was still crying, propped up on his forearms, his leg in the medics hands. He exhaled the word, closing his eyes and immediately beckoning him closer with his hand.

 

« What’s the score ? »

« Cristiano.. »

« Ricardo, what’s the score ? How are they doing ? »

« They’re doing good, half-time, zero all. How are you ? »

« Who cares. Mum, go back to Junior please. »

 

She was about to disagree but he shushed her with a pleading look. He needed his baby boy to be reassured, cared for. «  _Obrigado_  ». She left as the physiotherapist was trying to get him to lie down to make the ultrasound work.

 

« Cris, do as you’re asked. Please. »

« Ricky, I need you to take me out of here. I need to speak to my team, I need to be out there. You have to.. »

« Cris, Cristiano. _Amor_ , calm down, please. »

He gripped his hand harshly, pulling him out of his frenzy. His eyes were wet, crazy and unfocused. With his index under his chin, he lifted Cristiano’s head to his level, softly caressing his skin with his other fingers. He allowed himself to feel his cheek under his fingertips, going up to his temple, palm soothing over his forehead. 

 

« Don’t call me that » but he sunk into the touch.

« Please, Cris. »

He closed his eyes, discomfort clear on his face like he was battling with something. Fighting the pain, fighting the fear..

« I failed them. »

.. fighting the guilt.

 

« I failed the team and my whole country. I failed myself, Ricardo. How could I.. I’ll never win this, they’ll hate me for fucking ever, what have I done. I had no right. I can’t let them like that. Get me back, please, get me back. »

 

There was no point in stopping his rambling. At this point, he had forgotten everything about the other person in the room, or the injury, his whole mind turned to his comrades. Ricardo let his hand wander into his gel-ed up hair, thumb resting on his temple. He kneeled next to him as close as he could get, lips ghosting over his ear. He could feel the wetness of the sideways tears, the stickiness of his skin. 

«  _Para_. Stop. You cannot think like that baby. You’ve given your all. You are hurt, Cris. I am not letting you go back out there. Please stop. »

 

Cristiano suddenly let out a scream, his leg held up in the air by the medic. He’ll have to get a shot, right. Great. Could he get back on pitch ? Oh for fuck’s sake, Cris. 

« I can’t even play anymore, I need to do something, Ricky. »

« They need their captain whole, idiot. Whole and in shape, so shut the hell up and listen. »

 

He’d get the injection, wait it out and probably be back out for the last 10 minutes. Better than nothing right ? Better than not being able to coach your teammates right ? Not enough for Cristiano Ronaldo apparently. _Testa de mula._

« You exhaust me. Fucking get the shot and shut up Ronaldo. »

At that, Ricardo got up and sat on the bench running around the walls. He watched the needle be prepped, the skin cleared. That had to be painful. « Stay still. » The player’s eyes found his best friend’s dark orbs, as if needing something to hold on to. He barely reacted to the intrusion, barely even flinched. He was like hooked on Ricardo’s stare, bright shiny eyes speaking for him. 

 

_«_ Okay, you’re all patched up. You might want to lean on your right leg though. »

He nodded.

« Will you make arrangements for him to get examined the second he gets back to Madrid please ? Much appreciated, thank you. »

 

The older man left the room, silence replacing him. He was still fixated on him, mind probably miles away. 

 

Ricardo sat on the bench again, closed his eyes and threw his arm over them. He didn’t expect tonight to go like this. They were finally playing a finale, they finally had a chance at winning a trophy with the national team. He sighed deeply but it sounded more like a sob. His partner was hurting, more emotionally than physically, and there was nothing he could do.

 

« I love you »

 

He would have jumped had it not been for the impromptu weight dropping on his lap, the arms lacing around his frame, the chest bumping into his shoulder.

 

« You fucker »

« I’m sorry, I’m so sorry »

 

His hand moved to rest on the crown of the head nuzzled in the crook of his neck. It was uncomfortable but it was close and warm and all they needed. His other arm freed his eyes, fingers reaching for the worried face. He lifted it, thumb caressing the cheekbone lightly as if afraid of breaking it. They made eye contact again; it was a hard glare but so soft deep inside, so soft, so open and pleading, Ricardo couldn’t stop the words from spilling.

« You scared me so bad out there, baby. I was so scared. I hate this, I hated being away from you. You know all I wanted was to jump out to help, don’t you ? You know I would if I could, yeah ? »

«  _Sei, eu sei_. I know. I’m so fucking sorry. »

 

The water gathered behind his eyes tumbled over the lid, making him scrunch up his nose. He was so weak. Weak for Ronaldo, weak for Cristiano. Weak for this man who’d stolen his heart so long ago.

« You have nothing to apologize for, love. You gave your best. You have no idea how magnificent you looked. So strong, powerful. »

 

He kissed his forehead, pulling him onto himself, instead of his bottom resting on the bench. He was smaller but sometimes, Cristiano would get into these moods.. sometimes he would need to be taken care of, sometimes he would break if not for his pieces being held together by someone else, by his best friend. « I love you ».

 

He continued to mumble against his skin, arm secure around his back and belly, stroking his flank.

« You’re an amazing captain baby, yeah ? You hear me ? They all know this. They respect you so much, they look up to you. They’re gonna win this for you, you know ? They’ll sweat water, blood and flesh for you, to get this title. You should have heard them on pitch when you left. High spirit, I’m telling you love. »

 

Cristiano held on tight to his neck, tear tracks drying on his cheeks. His baby man. The pressure on his shoulders was so heavy. The public, the medias, everyone expected him to shine during this game, to score, to lead his team to the victory. He was used to that, he knew how to handle it. The self-imposed pressure though.. it had rarely been this oppressive. The scar of 2004 was tingling.

 

« Relax, _amor,_ you’re too tense for the pain to stop. Want me to talk you through it ? »

A nod. 

« Let’s lie down, yeah ? But first.. » he waited for Cristiano to untangle himself from him before leaning forward to capture his lips. It was soft and lingering, chaste but promising. « C’mere » he whispered. The response was immediate. Hands took hold of his hair, forceful lips shagging his mouth open, tongue devouring its twin. Ricardo’s fingers found their place on his jaw, slowing the kiss into something less consuming, the dancing of their lips more sensual.This kind of touching was so uncommon outside of their own home, it lit a fire under their skin; a flame that nothing but each other’s comforting embrace could entertain.

 

«  _Calma, bebê_ , I’m not going anywhere. »

 

Their eyes were open now, focused on each other. The bench was barely wide enough for both of them, Ricky on his side. Disadvantage of training with a footie superstar, or perks of having all that muscle to himself.. you decide. He flattened a hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat, quick for an athlete like him. Too quick.

« Okay, Cris. We’ll do as usual, yeah ? Close your eyes for me, love. You’re home. We are home, in the living room. It’s cold outside, cold but sunny. The sky is blue, no wind, no birds. There are no sounds except for the wood cracking in the chimney. Junior is taking a nap beside you on the couch, his little head on your chest. I’m right there next to you, reading a book. Everything is calm. No problems. »

 

His breathing is easier, deeper. He takes Cristiano’s hand in his, lacing their fingers loosely.

« You can relax into the cushion of the sofa. Your muscles are relaxed, your joints are relaxed. Your eyes fall back into their place, your lungs expand in your thorax. Your mind wanders in your lax body. First your neck and shoulders. You can feel all the tense nods untangle, the fabric of the couch caressing more skin. Down your arms, a little ticklish. Your elbow, wrist and each of your fingers.. »

 

He kept whispering to him in a calm, deep voice, in Portuguese because that’s what they usually speak with each other. That’s the sound he’s most accustomed with, the sound that has him slightly smiling in his slumber. 

He got to his right leg with precautions, making sure all of Cristiano remained calm and soft. His hand was still sprawled over his heart, thumb tracing tiny circles through his jersey. When he got to the left knee, he saw Cris’ eyebrows twitch. Rapidly, not wanting this whole session to fly out the window, he planted a kiss on his cheek. Another on the corner of his mouth, and another on his smirking lips. He reached the toes and stopped talking, simply breathing next to his man. 

 

They’d taken the habit of doing this at least once a week. Ricardo had the faculty to calm him down like no one else. After fifteen years, there was no pressure to impress anymore. Cristiano knew he’d take him as he is, no matter what. With his mom or sisters, the will and need to never disappoint was so strong, he could never completely let go.

And now with his son.. he had to be the best. Always. That little boy loved his daddy unconditionally. Shit, Cristianinho.. Without disturbing the other body, he got his phone out to shoot a text to Elma. He was good, they were fine. He’ll be back out in no time; except there were 13 minutes left and still a draw. 

 

He sighed before pressing his lips to Cristiano’s shoulder. Yes he was tiny, and ? Cristiano loved that, allowed quite a few eccentricities in the bedroom.

The bench shook with movement from the injured player. « Why’d you stop ? »

Ricardo snorted, « aren’t you a demanding one », but his hand went back to its place, now facing him. His free fingers climbed up the arm to settle on his neck, ghosting over the pulse point. He puckered his lips in a discreet demand which went answered by the second. It was simple and genuine, just a touch of lips.

« Thank you »

He shook his head - he was here for this. To take care of his man, reassure, patch up, get into that thick head and work him around. He could work him up or calm him down, he’d learned how to, even more so in the last ten years. Had taken a lot of time, a lot of tries and failures but they’d gotten there on their own.

 

« You good ? »

« I love you »

 

« You get so sappy, dear lord. Remind me to never be around when you get injured please » but the smile on his face and the worry in his eyes were real. It would always be hard to see the pain. It was part of the game, of course. « I love you too, baby. You’re gonna win this. I can feel it. »

 

Another kiss and few quiet minutes. Ricardo could feel the power growing in Cristiano’s motions, the want in his veins and the heat in his heart. He was going to do it. 

« It’s over, isn’t it ? »

Ricardo bit his lip, palm framing Cristiano’s defined jaw.

« Actually.. you’re probably going to be able to go back out. »

« Extra time ? »

 

He hummed a yes while breathing into his neck, bathing into his sent. The sweat from the short running he’d done, made bitter by the pain, sweetened by their embrace. His favorite sent in the world, reminiscent of hours and hours in bed discovering each other back when they were still hesitating, still unsure of their sexuality. It was lucky that they’d known each other for so long before falling in love. There were no secrets between them, except that physicality of being two men attracted to one another.

 

« Help me stand, yeah ? »

That brought a smile to Ricardo’s face. That was never easy for Cris to do. He got up before him, stretching a bit and helping him sit, careful with his leg.

« Can you put your foot on the ground ? Test some weight on it ? »

« I think I can. And stop babying me, I’m 31, not 5. »

« You love it, baby. »

The look he shoot him was no doubt supposed to be dangerous and resentful but it was more soft and worried than anything else. Ricardo kissed it away, hands caressing his neck, before presenting his arm to Cristiano.

 

« Come on love, let’s go. »

They got on their way back and slowly but surely Cristiano was walking on his own. He still winced, even as discreetly as he was trying to Ricardo could see it. They turned another corner and the distinct shouts of the crowd assaulted them. Cristiano’s face hardened, lines blurring into that professional mask he’d developed along the years. Focused.

 

Ricardo had witnessed a lot. He’d been there from the early Sporting days, through the Manchester bratty period to the bright Madrid era. He’d seen Cristiano grow and learn, from mistakes, from defeats and from victories. More than an excellent footballer, he’d become an amazing man, generous and good spirited. Ricardo often got emotional over it and honestly he’d kick himself for being so sentimental but it was good to realize what they’d been through. It was good to see the progress and live the moment fully. 

 

Right now, he was mesmerized by the strength radiating from Cristiano. The determination exuding from every pores, the stability despite the pain. Obviously biased but…

 

«  _Cris, amor. Espera_. Wait. »

« What is it babe ? »

« I.. I just wanted to say how proud I am. No matter what happens out there, even if we lose. »

« Ricky.. »

« I love you okay ? You’re so beautiful Cris, so gorgeous. I fucking love you so much. And I wish— »

«  _Nâo._ No. Stop right there. I could not do it without you alright ? Hold on with me. For me. I’m going to fucking lose it whatever the scenario so I need you. »

 

The bubble of silence around them grew and thickened by the second. They were stuck on each other, eyes battling for the upper hand. « I need you. » 

Ricardo grabbed him by the neck, propelling himself onto Cristiano’s mouth. He clung to his shoulders while arms encompassed him at the waist. Their lips teased each other, little pecks and tiny bites before one of them deepened it, tongue licking into the other’s mouth, no barrier left. Their bodies were flushed together, solid. They fit. Like everything else, they had learnt to. Find their marks, what they liked, what got them all bothered. Cristiano thoroughly counting his teeth was doing it all for Ricardo. He softened the kiss though, sucking at Cris’ bottom lip before settling against both, just breathing from there. 

 

Another minute passed, calm and silent, but they heard the whistle go off. Show time. 

He took Cristiano’s head between both of his hands, on his tip toes, and leveled their eyes.

 

« Go, and win that shit. I’m here. »

 

He kissed him on the forehead before hugging him to his chest. And let go.

 

_________________________________________________________________________

 

His heart was beating hard in his chest. He’d rarely felt this. 

 

They’d just scored. Eder just scored for Portugal and they were in the lead, 10 minutes to the win. Cristiano was a mess, crying in his seat. Ricardo wanted nothing more than to join him in his frenzy, take his hand, kiss his fingers and hold him until the final whistle. 

He couldn’t obviously so he held back, standing next to the bench. He cringed each time France threatened their goalie, winced each time Portugal failed to bury the ball in Lloris’ cage. 

 

He thought he was going to die when he saw Ronaldo up and jumping on his legs. The fuck was he thinking ? He gritted his teeth through it, watching him scream with the coach, acting like the captain he was. He ran (well… tried to), stamp his foot and shoved Santos without any restraint, beyond excitement. 

When they all stood for the last minute, he thought he was going to lose his mind. Cristiano couldn’t contain himself anymore. He was on the verge of crumbling down and Ricky needed to wrap him up in his arms. There was something in watching such a huge player get emotional over his national team winning a competition… something extremely beautiful and incredible to witness. 

 

They were mere meters apart, and mere seconds from the final whistle. He had seen Cristiano’s eyes looking for him, unbelieving and a little lost. He had seen him walk away from the coach, wandering seemingly without aim to position himself right in front of him. He saw him turn in a blur, saw his out stretched arms and the tears on his cheeks. 

The next thing he saw was Cristiano’s neck, tan wet skin under his lips. Fuck, he’d done it again. Whatever, who cared ? They’d won. They’d fucking done it, finally. The team, the players, Cristiano. They were European champions. What he’d worked his whole life to achieve.. another stone closer to being the best player in the world.

 

 

He could feel Cristiano’s shoulders shaking beneath him. He had literally jumped on him, was clinging like a baby koala. He wasn’t even sure if he was talking or screaming, all he knew is that he was hugging his boyfriend in front of thousands of people, on millions of TVs around the world. 

 

That didn’t matter the second Cristiano closed his own arms on him, tight and tighter. They stumbled back and found themselves sprawled on the grass, still attached. The crowd noise died in his ears and his brain got to register that Cris was not just crying..

 

« Obrigado, obrigado, obrigado. »

 

He was literally sobbing his thank you out. Ricardo’s smile was hidden into his neck, mouth caressing the skin.

 

«  _Foste tu_. You did it. You won. I’m so proud of you baby, so proud. _Conseguiste amor, ganhaste_. »

 

 

Ricardo couldn’t tell you what happened afterwards, if you’d asked him. He remembers being glued at the hips with Cris, laughing out with no worries. He remembers his eyes getting wet with pride when he saw him holding the cup up. He remembers the outburst of love when they eventually got out of the camera's eye. He didn't really care about anything else, honestly. They had won and he’d been able to share it the closest to him possible.

 

And when Cris's -their- son came running at them in the corridor, screaming « pai, pai, ganhaste. you win » with his little accent, and jumped in his father's arms, he thought he might me living the best day of his life. 

 

 

He was wrong. The best day of Ricardo Regufe’s life would be when Cristiano Ronaldo would finally say yes to him and Cristiano Junior could call him « papa ».. officially.

 

And that.. would take a few more years.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to comment, any constructive criticism will be taken into consideration. All the love.


End file.
